Anywhere You Wish
by singsongsung
Summary: Serena. Carter. Summer. Fiji. Mentions of CB. The possibility of then, now, later, and forever. Everlasting; make this last for ever. Oneshot.


**A/N:** I don't know why this took me such a hellishly long time to write, but it's finally complete after a lot of work, and it's long – but I hope that's a good thing. It's amazing how two characters can capture your heart in a scene less than a minute long, but Serena and Carter did that for me in 2x25, and my muse tortured me with this until I wrote it all down. The lyrics are courtesy of Owl City; _The Technicolour Phase_. If you read, I'd really appreciate a review. Enjoy.

**Anywhere You Wish**

_I am the red in the rose, the flowers_

_on the blankets on your bedroom floor_

When the airplane lands on the runway at Nadi International Airport she does several things. She puts her seat in its upright position. She pulls her long hair up off her back and into a flawlessly messy bun. She grabs her purse from underneath the seat in front of her.

And she reaches for his hand. Their fingers intertwine, slipping together easily and making the contact all the more intimate. In her peripheral vision she sees him glance down at their hands, but he doesn't say a word, for which she's grateful. In fact, she's pretty sure he gives her hand a subtle, gentle squeeze.

For which she's grateful.

They're silent for a few moments as they deplane and stroll through the airport, hands still clasped together, winging lightly between their bodies. The air is humid and heavy, the kind of suppresses and suffocates, the kind that encourages a lazy sort of desire, the kind that keeps secrets.

"So," he remarks when they arrive in line at Immigration. "Fiji. Thanks for the invite."

Her cheeks feel hot; she's not sure if that's due to the literal heat or if she's blushing due to the metaphorical heat between them. "Thank you for finding…you didn't have to do that. And you didn't have to come."

"Sure I did," he says, like it's that easy and like it's that true.

She exhales slowly. "Is that why you came back to New York? Because you knew? Because you…wanted to tell me?"

"Well." He lets that word linger in between them before he finally concludes. "It certainly wasn't for Blair."

"Really?" She finds herself needing serious confirmation of his words.

He nods. "I always enjoy a good competition with Chuck Bass…but Blair was a prize that had already been won."

"Blair is not a prize," she huffs; it is a natural instinct for her to defend her lifelong best friend. "She chooses what – _who_ – she does and doesn't want."

Smirking, he ushers her toward the small desk where a customs officer is waiting for them. "Exactly," he says sagely.

She's an independent person by both necessity and choice. She's used to getting what she wants and doing it herself. But she finds herself allowing him to take control and take care of her. He retrieves their luggage, finds a luxury cab, and holds the door open for her.

And it feels okay. She doesn't feel helpless; she feels secure.

Fiji seems like her kind of destination. It's mysterious in that way of the tropics, gorgeous water and sky of contrasting shades of bright blue. Palm trees and creamy white sand are constants on the landscape and the Fijians have ready smiles, much like she herself does. But, as with all of the world's locales, there's a darker side to the sunny island. She's lived in New York City long enough and has travelled enough to be able to recognize the signs of poverty and corruption. She glances at the boy – or really, she supposes, the man – who sits next to her. "Wasn't…" she trails off because her voice sounds raw, she hasn't spoken in a while. She clears her throat and tries again: "Wasn't there a military coup here a couple years ago?"

He just looks at her for a long moment, one corner of his lips tugging upward, his smirk lighting up his naturally mischievous eyes.

She sighs deeply, frustrated in the way only he has ever been able to invoke in her. Huffily, she says, "Will you please tell me what you're thinking instead of staring at me like that?"

Chuckling lightly, he lifts her hand to kiss her knuckles, but, as he's ever the gentleman, his lips barely brush her skin. "I was just thinking…you are so much more than people ever give you credit for."

She breaks eye contact with him instantly, so unlike herself, so much like some shy schoolgirl she's never been. _No one_ makes her feel like this. "You don't think people see me how I really am?"

"They do," he agrees readily, "At least parts of you."

Biting her lower lip lightly, she playfully inquires, "Good parts or bad parts?"

"All good parts," he says, his smirk forming into what's almost a smile. "Always good parts. But I don't think anyone truly knows everything about you."

She squints at him slightly in a way she knows is both scolding and endearing. "And what, Carter?" she asks sceptically. "You think that you do?"

"Maybe I'd like to," he replies, leaning just a little bit closer to her. They maintain eye contact for a few moments, challenging each other to look away. In the end, he surrenders first, pulling back slightly and turning to look out the window on his side of the car while she's left to contemplate his words.

Taking a deep breath, she looks back out her own window as the car turns into the parking lot of what she assumes is their hotel. As she exhales, she whispers, "It's beautiful."

She can feel his gaze on her. He says, "Yes; very" like they're both talking about the scenery.

Inside, he strikes up an easy rapport with the concierge, who's perfectly friendly and speaks gently accented English. A couple boys in their late teens follow them to their room, carrying their luggage. When they arrive, she winks sweetly at them while Carter tips them generously in Fijian dollars, and she appreciates not having to apologize for her outrageous wealth. She sighs contentedly as she looks around the room – indoor hottub bubbling readily, gauzy curtains in front of the balcony dancing in the wind, elegant roses printed on the bedspread.

"Oh," he says, breaking her reverie. "When I made a reservation I asked for two beds. I can go back to the desk and see if we can change rooms, or you could just have your own –"

She shakes her head adamantly, effectively cutting him off. "He said this was their last vacancy, remember? Besides, it's fine; it's not like we haven't shared a bed before. It's not like it has to mean anything. Let's just…get some sleep." She yanks the elastic out of her hair, allowing her blonde locks to tumble down onto her shoulder and back, thankful for the light sea breeze and the air conditioning. She pulls the floral-printed comforter to the floor and steps over it, tugging him after her as she lies down atop the sheets, exhausted from the flight and the emotional shock of knowing that she's in the same place as her father is.

Willingly, he lies down behind her, moulding his body to curve against hers, one arm draped loosely around her. She feels his breath tickle her ear as she closes her eyes against the glare of the sun and relaxes. As she gives herself over to the pulls of slumber, she glances down at their linked hands and realizes that neither of them has let go once since she first reached for his hand on the plane.

_and I am the grey in the ghost that hides_

_with your clothes behind your closet door_

When she wakes up she feels more well-rested than she has in months. That's the moment when it hits her that high school is truly over – classes she hates and tedious homework will never be a part of her world again and she has total freedom for the next three months. She's an adult now, and while she's always made her own choices, this is where they start to count.

Feeling remarkably awake and comfortable in those realizations, she rolls onto her back and stretches an arm out across the vacant space on the other side of the bed. She wonders if this is how he felt when he woke up on a Greek island to find that she'd disappeared.

But she knows it's different, because what she's feeling is the antithesis of abandonment. As she sits up in the darkness, she can see that he's just outside on the balcony, speaking quietly to someone on his cell phone. She grabs her own phone out of her purse, changes the location on her clock, and sees that it's just past three o'clock in the morning. She laughs a little to herself; she's wide awake and she suspects that he is, too.

She sheds her sweater and puts her hair up once again in a loose, lazy ponytail, and walks outside to join him. He's sitting on the floor of the balcony rather than on one of the chairs and she flops down easily at his side. He shoots her a smile as he snaps his phone closed.

"Good morning," he murmurs.

Her laughter pierces the gentle silence of the night. "It's not _quite_ morning yet." Her shoulder bumps against his. "Who were you talking to?"

"My guy here."

"Your _guy_?" she asks, teasing him for his vague language.

He chuckles. "My _contact _here, how's that?"

"Much better." Her teeth start chattering even though the air is still heavy and warm. "So…do you have a plan? Do you know anything more? I mean," she quickly backtracks, "You don't have to, I was just wondering…"

His smile is reassuring. "Not yet. But I will soon, okay?" He lays his palm lightly against her calf, over the deep blue denim of her jeans. "Are you nervous?"

"More like impatient," she replies breathily. "I just…"

"I know," he murmurs comfortingly. "Well, I don't, of course, but you don't have to say anything more." He sighs. "No matter what, there's not much we can do for the next few hours."

She taps her feet against the ground before tucking her legs underneath herself, trying to prevent herself from fidgeting too much. "Well, why don't you tell me your…game plan."

"_Game plan_?" he says mockingly, teasing her in turn as he laughs. "Don't worry about it, okay? I've got people. We'll figure all of this out."

"Oh, you've got _people_. So mysterious," she whispers, leaning in close to him, admittedly a bit flirtatiously. Their noses brush and she shivers again.

"Part of my charm," he say simply, lifting one eyebrow.

She giggles and tilts her head backward to look at the sky. There's only a sliver of a moon up there, surrounded by millions of stars. "So what do you think? Is this place as good as Dubai?"

"Better, I think," he replies reflectively. "Dubai is warm and beautiful and everything, but it's so busy and industrialized that at times it feels like I'm just living in a hotter version of New York. What about you, do you miss the city?"

She shrugs. "Not really. That place has always been about…so much drama for me. Of all the places I've ever travelled to in the world, honestly…nowhere, including New York City, has ever really felt like home." She grimaces. "Does that make any sense at all?"

His eyes glimmer in the darkness. "Perfect sense. I'm the same way."

Her own eyes feel heavy and sore, like she might need to cry, though she's entirely unsure of what the reason for that might be. "Yeah," she mutters. "I guess I can't really escape all that Upper East Side drama, huh? Even in Fiji…I'm here for my fucked-up family." She adores her brother more than anything, and most of the time she loves her mom and even her grandmother, but she can't help the bitterness that seeps into her voice.

Carter rubs her leg gently. "None of us have functional families. That's why we look after one another. Like you've always done for Blair, you know?"

She blinks forcefully. "You've been doing that for me. This past year you've been looking out for me, you've been looking for…him."

"I have to admit…my motives were partially selfish."

That breaks up the seriousness of their conversation a bit and she laughs a little and stays smiling afterward. "Why does that not surprise me?" She laughs again. "So, 'fess up, why'd you do it?"

"Because…you're kind of my weakness, Serena." He gives her a small grin and she can't tear her eyes away from him. "I was hoping I might spend some time with you again. After Santorini…the only time I saw you was for that debutante ball. "

"I'm sorry for that. Cece mislead you into believing that I'd changed my mind about going because of you, and you got punched, and…"

He rolls his eyes, waving her words away. "It's alright."

She leans against him and finds herself smiling when he automatically wraps an arm around her shoulders. She tucks her head into his neck, cuddling a bit closer. "I'm sorry about Santorini, too," she whispers, so quietly that she would have suspected that he didn't hear her if he didn't pull her just a little bit closer.

Unlike Blair with her not-so-secret scrapbook of all her dreams for prom, Serena's got real secrets hidden away in her closet, a box that probably once held a gift stuffed full of photographs, mementos, a couple CDs and even clothing items which remind her of certain days or night. Written on the side of the concealed box is _Santorini_. She doesn't take it out periodically and obsess over it or anything, but she's always aware of it.

It's a regret. She's done worse things, things she's not necessarily proud of, but the Greek island gives name to the regret she's got a box crammed full of stuff dedicated to.

She's embarrassed of her weakness. She, so well known for her courage, her spontaneity, her passion for whatever she pursues…she ran away, and she wishes that she hadn't.

She wishes that she'd been brave enough to stay and search for her father.

She wishes that she'd been brave enough to stay there with Carter after they slept together that only crazy night.

She wishes she hadn't been so afraid of change; she just really wishes she'd _stayed_.

_I am in the green in the grass that _

_bends back from underneath your feet_

As they watch the sun rise together, their stomachs begin to growl, and they laugh as they realize how absolutely ravenous they are. They rush inside to get dressed – she pulls on a blue skirt and steals one of his white button-downs and knots the sides together, baring her abdomen. They dress in the same room without really looking at one another, and it's not at all awkward. She's ready in about ten minutes but it takes half an hour for them to actually get out the door once he chases her around and pins her to the bed, both berating and praising her for taking his clothes without permission. Their room is a mess and he's playful in a way that most people never see Carter Baizen, and she feels giddy by the time they finally leave the room in search of food, because it almost feels like they never left Santorini at all.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat in the hotel restaurant?" he sighs as she drags him out into the bustling street.

"No!" she cries, aghast. "Where's the adventure in that?" She shakes her head emphatically. "It's clearly been too long for you and me. You're losing your edge."

"Couldn't agree more," he says readily as she yanks on his arm, pulling him across the street when she sees a break in traffic. "So," he continues a bit breathlessly, "What, exactly, does Serena van der Woodsen like to eat for breakfast when in Fiji?"

She takes a moment to consider, glancing around at the people in the streets, the old-style cars, the vendors and the palm tress. She tries to be creative, but the heat is sweltering and all she can say in reply is, "Ice cream."

"Ice cream. Really?"

"_Where_ is that impulsiveness of yours?" she asks, shaking her head again. "Where's the bad boy I used to know?"

"Sorry to disappoint," he replies sarcastically. "Let's get some ice cream."

"Over here," she says, tugging lightly on his hand again, leading him over to an elderly man with warm brown eyes who's selling things that look like popsicles. She listens brightly and intently as he explains that they're milk-based ice cream treats that originate in India, and she laughingly stumbles over the pronunciation a couple times. She gets banana, which tastes vaguely like the antibiotic medication she used to take when she got ear infections as a little girl, but in a good way. Carter chooses pistachio and pays the vendor, taking her hand as they walk away.

Serena's starving; she hasn't eaten much since she snacked on pretzels on the plane. She devours her ice cream quickly, and her tongue is numb by the end. Nonetheless, she eyes up Carter's. "Is it good?" she asks innocently.

He knows her well enough that she's asking for more than just a taste. Wordlessly, he hands over his treat and she thanks him with a brief kiss that's not meant to mean a lot. It's just her sugary-sweet lips against his equally tasty, equally cold mouth.

As she licks her way through the rest of her 'breakfast' food, they walk near the water. Life here is such a contrast to NYC – it's busy, but in a relaxed way rather than a hurried one. There's too much heat and beauty to rush through the day, missing it all and exhausting yourself. They're silent in a comfortable way, and she know he's probably trying to absorb it all, just like she is.

She stops abruptly, feet halfway buried in the sand, the muscles in her shoulders and neck tensing up, getting tight.

"Serena?"

She takes a sharp breath and turns to him, smiling sheepishly. "Promise me you'll keep me from dong this the whole time we're here. I can't panic every time I see a man around fifty with greying blond hair."

He nods slowly. "We're in Fiji. This is one of the world's best vacation spots. Try and forget it, okay? I know you can let this go. Just have some fun here with me. You'll _know_ him if you see him."

They start walking again as she sighs wearily. "Will I, though? It's been years. There's no way he'd recognize me now."

Carter shrugs as if that's not a big deal, but she peeks at his face from under her long lashes and sees that he's sympathetic. "Then you'll get to see his jaw drop when he sees how fucking amazingly his little girl has grown up."

"You're _such_ a charmer," she mutters, a smile sneaking onto her lips.

"I _was_ the first boy to tell you how pretty you were," he agrees, eyebrows flying up. "Remember?"

"I was four!" she laughs. "And Nate had just told me I had cooties."

"You cried."

"I did not!" she exclaims. "But you came over and comforted me anyway."

"What can I say? I was six years old and about to leave for an all-boys boarding school. I did what I could."

"Is that all I was to you? A last chance to practice your flirting?" she jokes.

He grins boyishly. "I told the guys at school you were my girlfriend."

She swats at his chest lazily, back-handed, bright blue eyes wide. "You didn't."

"Oh, I did."

"That was _very_ presumptuous of you," she scolds him.

"Sure, you had a crush on Nathaniel….but I knew you'd eventually remember who it was who ran away from your girly germs and who it was who called you beautiful." He smirks softly. "So was it presumptuous, really?"

Speechless, she shakes her head as they continue to amble down the beach. When she finds her voice again she can only mumble, "Maybe."

Further down the beach and across the street, she sees a grassy area about half the size of the average soccer field. Kids around ten years old are running all over it, tackling each other. She brightens and points them out to Carter.

"Hey, are they playing rugby?"

He smiles at her as he nods, impressed once again, she can tell. "Yeah; national sport. Fijians are really enthusiastic about it."

She squints at him in the sun. "Did you do _research_?" There's something adorable about the mental image of him surfing Google and compiling notes, and there's something that makes her heart flutter about the idea that he'd do it for her.

Shrugging, he says: "I had a feeling you'd want to come down here right away, I know how you are. And it wouldn't hurt to be prepared."

"You're prepared, are you?" she asks him mischievously, eyes sparkling. "So let's go!" She pulls him across the street and a couple cars honk, but she flashes them her best apologetic smile and the drivers don't appear too angry.

"Hey, guys," she greets the kids kindly, unsure if they speak English are not. "Can we play?" she asks, her tone friendly and upbeat and she gestures to herself and Carter.

Several pairs of deep brown eyes size them up for a moment, and then one of the other girls nods. "Yes," she says, a bit shyly, but firmly.

Serena grins and thanks her, kicking her three hundred dollar fip-flops off. Her grin widens when she sees Carter rolling up his sleeves. "Did you learn to play rugby online, too?" she teases.

"no, that was one of boarding school's more valuable lessons." He reaches out to shake her hand. "Good luck. You'll need it," he says, goading her, and then smirks devilishly. "I like to play rough. But you remember that."

Her jaw drops and she bursts out laughing, blushing just a little bit before she runs forward to join the game.

They play for what feels like forever under the scorching sun, playfully, gently tackling the kids and cheering loudly when their teams get points. She watches him swing one of the younger ones into the air when his team is in the lead, making the little girl giggle happily, and it warms her heart. She winks at him across the field for no real reason.

When the game ends the sun is way high in the sky, and the kids scamper home. Serena and Carter stay sitting in the field, breathless and sweaty. She's a mess and she knows it: her hair has come out of her ponytail and there are wisps sticking to her neck and her cheeks, which have already picked up freckles from the sun. Her (his) shirt is more loosely tied than it originally was so that the bikini top she wears underneath is visible; her feet are a grassy mess and she's got grass stains on her calves, thighs, arms, and even her stomach. She laughs when she looks down at herself before glancing over at him to see if he's in better or worse shape than she is.

He's smiling at her, almost cryptically.

"What?" she murmurs, blinking at him as she licks her lips, salty with perspiration.

His smile morphs into a smirk as he shrugs, not with automatic charm, but with helpless sincerity. "Still beautiful."

She feels dizzy and she doesn't think it's because of the heat.

_and I am the blue in your back-alley view_

_where the horizon and the rooftops meet_

In the evening, they decide to have some fun that's a little more mature. They eat dinner at the hotel and get ready to go. Serena washes her hair and leaves it down, pulling on a short, flirty black dress while he's in the shower. Bored and impatient, she sneaks into the washroom while he's still hidden away behind the shower curtain and grabs his clothes. He walks out of the bathroom ten minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist, frowning at her as she sits on the bed, leaning back with her weight resting on her hands, smiling innocently at him.

"Funny," he says dryly.

Serena grins. "I thought so," she murmurs, eyeing him as she hands over his wardrobe choices.

Instead of taking his clothes from her, he places his hand on her bare knee and lets his hand slide upward, disappearing just under the hem of the short skirt of her dress. He smirks at her easily while she watches him warily, her eyes darting from his hand to his face and back again.

"Still funny?" he whispers.

She glances away, hating these sudden waves of shyness she keeps experiencing. She pushes his clothes into his hands and stands up, heading out onto the balcony. Over her shoulder, she orders, "Get dressed, let's get out of here. I wanna dance," she adds petulantly, bossily, like she used to when they were kids.

"Am I making you restless?" he asks knowingly, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

She can feel his gaze on her hips as she walks. "Get dressed," she says dismissively, closing the sliding door of the balcony.

As she waits for him she strolls over the edge, pressing her hands against the railing as she gazes out at the water. The night wind is humid but strong, tickling her shoulders and playing with her hair. She doesn't turn when she hears him come outside or when she feels the vibration of his footsteps, travelling through the balcony and up her legs. He stands behind her and rests a hand lightly on her waist, his lips tucking into the junction of her neck and shoulders. She turns her head slightly toward him as his hand trails upward, brushing the side of her breast before it lays flat, curling over her collarbone.

"You're stunning," he mutters, pressing his lips to her skin before he pulls back.

She meets his lusty eyes with a measured gaze. "We're here to find my father," she murmurs. The words sound awkward, a truth she doesn't really want to confront, but it's the only way she has to tell him that this trip is about something bigger than them.

"I know, beautiful," he replies easily, knowledgably, reaching down to take her hand. "Let's go somewhere, okay?"

Playfully, she gives him a serious look. "Somewhere _public_," she insists.

He nods good-naturedly and throws her a heart-stopping smirk that has her rethinking everything she's set her beliefs on.

"Maybe," she says softly, leaning into him as they walk out of the hotel and into the summery night, "This can be about us. Just for tonight," she adds uncertainly.

His grip on her hand tightens as they cross the street. "I didn't come here with you expecting anything. You know that, right? I mean, I know I said I'd hoped to spend time with you, but…"

"No, I know," she interrupts him, a small smile playing on her lips as he leads her toward a lit-up building, out of which music with an enticing beat is pouring. "I guess this is my roundabout way of telling you that…maybe I wish you had." She grins at him and takes a step away, walking backward into the nightclub and pulling him after her. "Dance with me," she requests.

It's salsa music, sensual and fast-paced and simply the kind that gets her wanting to move. She giggles when he pulls her body up against his and gives her a long, hard, smoky kind of look before they begin to dance. She's grown up in the same world as he has; they've taken all the same essential dance classes. They can both dance flawless ballroom, not just the Viennese waltz and the foxtrot, but samba and mambo and west coast swing, and she knows for a fact that he's taken salsa lessons. She's entirely willing to let him lead; she's a natural dancer and she knows that this is going to be good.

And it _is_ good, really damn good. He leads and she follows him without missing a beat. It's twirls and spins, kicks and lots of hips. She trusts him completely when he lifts her up, and she flirts with the skirt of her dress, the quick movement of her hips, flipping her hair and shooting him her most sultry look. He grasps her hand and twirls her outward before pulling her back in, his hands finding her hips.

"What would Mrs. Rochester say about you now?" he teases, referring to their old teacher. "That is much sexier stuff than she'd ever let you get away with."

"Oh, now," she sighs, a bit breathless as she twines her arms around her neck. "Would you rather I move the way she taught me to or the way I want to?"

"_Definitely _the way you want to," he growls close to her ear.

When they exhaust themselves and use up all their formal dance training, they get playful. Serena breaks out her 'best' moves, the shopping cart and the lawn mower and the fireman, and everyone around her laughs.

Planting her hands on her hips, she says, "Let's see it, Carter Baizen."

He shakes his head, still laughing. "I don't think so, Serena van der Woodsen."

"Come on!" she begs with a persuasive pout.

"I don't think so."

"Cha-cha slide?" she teases. "Drop it like it's hot? Give me something, sweetheart," she purrs, stepping close to him so that her lips brush her ear, and so he can hear her over the sound of the music, the deep beat of which continues to thrum consistently.

He places his hand at the middle of her back, his fingertips slipping beneath the top of her dress, pressing against her spine in a way that makes her shiver. "I could give you something, alright," he says simply, low and husky, a warning.

She frowns lightly, looking at him through her eyelashes, feeling her pulse jump in her neck. She's shy again and he won't be doing any crazy dancing. "You win," she whispers back.

"So let's get out of here," he replies, nodding toward the exit. "There's something I want you to see." When Serena shoots him a slightly appalled look he sighs. "What are we, twelve? Get your mind out the gutter, S."

He chuckles as they walk down the street.

"What?" she asks him, softly and warily.

"I was just thinking…I was a lot of firsts for you, wasn't I?"

"I guess so," she agrees. She's never been one to be embarrassed or ashamed of her past, and she sort of loves that he knows most of her dirty little secrets.

"First kiss," he remarks, "right after my extremely sweet comment about how pretty you were."

"I was _four_," she reminds him again with a roll of her eyes.

"What happened happens," he retorts, "and it counts."

"You were my first international affair," she adds teasingly. "My first boarding school classroom hookup."

"And your…_first_," he says delicately, eyes dancing in the night-light. "If I'm not mistaken."

She curses herself for the way her cheeks turn pink. Blair is the one who gets blush-y and demure when the topic of sex is brought up. She's different; she's always been different. She swallows hard and forces herself to meet his eyes, dipping her chin down slightly, as close as she's going to get to an actual nod. "Paris," she says faintly, and leaves it at that. She clears her throat. "You're also, um, the first person who I've really let know and let help me with…this. With everything with my dad. And that's a big one."

Carter nods. "Thank you for that. For all of it. For giving me those parts of you."

They're stopped in the middle of the streets, surrounded by the blurry lights of traffic and nightclubs, under the great expanse of the sky and millions of stars, and it feels remarkably intimate. She takes a deep breath and grasps his hand with both of hers, pulling him along, taking them out of the moment. "Come on, what did you want to show me?"

He leads her up a winding, rickety staircase, careful not to let go of her hand.

"A…rooftop." She shoots him a puzzled look. "Um…wow?"

He rolls his eyes. "Clever girl," he says dryly, placing his hands on his shoulders and turning her around so that she has a different view. Her breath catches in her throat as he kisses the shell of her ear and says quietly, "_That_ is what I wanted you to see."

"How…" Her voice sounds small and strangled so she tries again. She feels like she should look at him, but she's too busy staring. "How did you know…that from up here…?"

He shrugs. "When you've travelled as much as I have over the years, you get sick of the typical touristy things, and you look for the real…magic in places, you know? And you learn to pick out things like this."

"It's amazing," she breathed, leaning back against him. From on top of the roof she had a clear and dazzling view of what seemed like the whole island laid out before her. The lights sparkled in the darkness, piercing the blue-y blackness of the smallest hours of the morning. She felt powerful and overwhelmed all at once.

"Amazing," he agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

She pushes one of her shoulders back slightly, nudging his body. This time, neither of them bother to pretend that he's talking about the scenery, because he isn't.

_if you cut me I suppose I would bleed_

_the colours of the evening stars_

_you can go anywhere you wish_

_because I'll be there, wherever you are_

They get mildly drunk – just tipsy, really – off of the tiny bottles of liquor he's got stashed in his pockets. She teases him about his preparedness when they unscrew the small caps and toast one another (_to Fiji, to finding things, to all things amazing, to tonight_), hitting the small bottles against one another.

He lays his jacket atop the concrete roof so that she can lie on top of it, and they settle in side by side on the hard surface of the roof, getting comfortable. She stares up at the stars and sighs contentedly as she tries to find the constellations.

"The universe is weird," she murmurs contemplatively.

"Oh, Serena. _Don't_ become one of those people who gets buzzed and suddenly feels _so insignificant_ compared to the sea or the sky."

She rolls her eyes even though he can't see her face. "It _is_. Like…we can't fly. But we can make ourselves fly. We can get into machines that will send us up there," she says, pointing, "even as far as to the moon. Should we do that?" she mumbles. "Should we even be going there if we can't fly there naturally?"

"Now you believe in creationism?" he teases.

"Carter," she sighs.

"It's an ethical dilemma," he concedes. "Right now, I suppose people fear…an end. This planet won't last forever and they want somewhere else to leave."

She exhales. "Why don't people ever just leave things alone?" she asks huffily, turning her head and her body a bit so that she's facing him. "Why don't people just let things happen? Why are they always interfering? There's nothing wrong with spontaneity, with uncertainty. Is there?"

He reaches over and runs his fingers lightly through her hair, wavy from having dried in the breeze that comes from the ocean. "Of course there's not," he says fondly. "And you know and I know it. But the problem, darling, is that most people are not you or I."

"That _is_ a problem," she agrees dramatically, and they both burst out laughing.

When they calm down, he asks lightly, "Do you feel safe? Up there in a plane? Is it an adventure or does it frighten you?"

She shrugs. "Not really either. I'm indifferent to it, I guess. Oh!" she cries, sitting up a bit, propping herself up, resting her weight on her elbow and her head against her hand. "But not that time, do you remember? On the flight from Moscow to Athens? All that turbulence?"

His eyes widen at the memory and he mirrors her position. "_Really_ inconvenient time," he says with an emphatic nod. He grins wickedly. "Was I the first person you joined the mile high club with, too?"

She shrugs once again, coyly this time. "You'll never know." She sighs, tracing invisible patterns on the concrete between them. "Those were good days."

Carter nods. "You were wild. Daring; fearless. Gorgeous. Unstoppable."

"I don't know…" She pauses. "I don't know exactly who I am to be anymore. I was so…out there, you know? And then I tried to be better, especially for Erik, but I really don't know…which version of myself I really am. Because…if I ever find _him_, Carter, isn't that the way I should want him to see me?"

"You've got to stop trying to define yourself," he says softly and seriously. "Both of those 'versions' of you have their good qualities and their bad. No one is perfect; no one has a solid, black-and-white personality."

Serena frowns. "Am I faking it, then? Have I been pretending all along? To be bad, and to be good?"

He shakes his head. "I think you've just been taking very real parts of yourself to two extremes, because that's what people have come to expect of you. You're done high school now. You're not even in America right now. Forget that; forget them; forget what they think of you and how they want you to be. Decide for yourself."

"Am I allowed…to ask you?" she inquires bashfully.

"Ask me what?"

"Who I really am." She tilts her head and smiles. "How do you like me?"

"I like…_my_ version of you."

Her heart palpitates. "_Your _version?"

He nods. "Crazy and calm. Outgoing and shy. Childish and maternal, sexy and sweet. Confident but also unsure. Experienced yet curious. Beautiful…and broken." He winds a few strands of her hair around his index and middle fingers and then releases the ringlet, letting it tumble down. "Best of both worlds. That's my Serena van der Woodsen. That's the girl on a rooftop in Fiji with me right now. That's the girl I'd go anywhere with and do anything for."

She's glad for the darkness, the cover of night, because it hides the sudden depth of her blue eyes and the redness of her cheeks. "But I don't know where I want to go. I don't know what I want to do."

"Don't analyze it. Just say it, or do it. Whatever it is, right now. Don't force yourself to pick, let yourself choose," he coaches her, never tearing his gaze away.

It really shouldn't be a surprise to either of them when she leans in and presses her lips to his with a hungry kind of ferocity. It shouldn't shock them when he kisses her back instantly, his hand buried in her prettily messy hair.

But it does. His eyes widen for a split second and she makes an appreciative sound at the back of her throat. Surprise and shock. The really good kinds.

When they break apart for oxygen, she mumbles, "That's it."

"First rooftop kiss?" he asks teasingly. They scoot closer to one another so that she's lying partially beneath him, staring at his eyes and the stars with hazy blue orbs.

"First…_something_," she gasps out breathlessly, struck by the electricity and the emotion between them, before he fuses his lips to hers once more, effectively silencing any further thoughts.

_I will always be your keys_

_when we are lost in the technicolour phase_

Serena's not sure exactly how far she wants this to go. Her only coherent thought is really that she doesn't want it to end. But they're still fully clothed and almost-chastely kissing when her cell phone rings, ruining the possibility of anything more at that moment. She shoots Carter an apologetic smile, touching her tingling lips as she fishes her phone out of his jacket pocket. It's Blair's ringtone; she'll have hell to pay later if she doesn't answer now.

"Hey, B.," she says softly.

"Serena!" her friend squeals, quite possibly happier than Serena have ever heard her over the phone. "S., _he loves me_!"

"Who…Chuck?" She laughs and sighs at the same time. "I know, B., we've talked about this, remember? And I love you and I really love how happy you sound right now, but it's kind of late and I'm kind of…buzzed…and I don't really have it in me to tell you _exactly_ how he told me that he loves you another twenty times."

"Who cares how he told _you_?" Blair cries, endearingly dismissive. "He told _me_!"

"What?!" Serena cries, instantly alert and squealing as well. "When? Where? How?"

"All those places he went, he was running away, but he…he got my favourite things.

"He went to Paris for you?" Serena asks softly, her heart melting on her best friend's behalf.

"Macaroons," Blair replies simply.

"Of course, I should've thought of that."

"And he went to Germany –"

"Stockings," Serena fills in easily with a small smirk. "Go on."

"He said that everywhere he went I caught up with him," Blair informs her, quietly and giddily. "And then he said I could trust him and believe him this time."

"And he told you."

"So many times!" she cries, unable to contain her joy, "Over and over."

"Aw, Blair, I'm _so_ happy for you," Serena gushes. "You sound so good."

"I _am_ so good," she says with a blissful sigh. "How about you? Where _are_ you right now? And who're you getting drunk with?"

"I'm…you know, around," she says vaguely. For some reason, she's reluctant to reveal her location and her company, to break the comfort of the secretive bubble they're currently in.

"Oh, sweetie, please tell me you _know_ where you are," Blair sighs, her words tinged with worry.

Serena laughs. "I do, I swear. And I'm fine. Maybe more than fine."

"Are you with a boy?" Blair asks excitedly.

Serena smiles indulgently even though Blair can't see her. "I'm happy for you, B., I really am. I'll talk to you soon, okay? Say hi to Chuck for me."

"You're being mysterious."

"_Bye_, B.," Serena replies laughingly.

"Be safe!" Blair calls before she can hang up. "I want you back here in the fall."

"Love ya," she says by way of agreement, flipping her phone closed. Sighing, she turns toward Carter. "We should probably go, huh?"

He nods, standing quickly and helping her to her feet. He picks up his jacket and shakes it off before wrapping it around her shoulders to keep her warm. The night isn't cold, but it is cool, and now that they've stopped dancing they can both feel it.

"Ever the gentleman," she compliments him with a teasing smile as he extends a hand to help her down the rickety staircase.

They make the ten-minute walk back to their hotel in silence, and she takes advantage of it to think. Holding firmly to his hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world, she thinks about her best friend's relationship. She's known Chuck and Blair since childhood, but she's seen new sides of them both in the past year. Chuck makes Blair so incredibly happy when things are good between them, and Chuck has surprised her. He changed for the girl he loves in ways Serena never could have predicted. He softened, there was a new startling sincerity, a _sweetness_, a tenderness, protectiveness, and adoration in the way he was with her.

Things that she saw in the man who was Chuck's nemesis, a constant world traveller and well-known troublemaker, when he said to her _That's the girl I'd go anywhere with and do anything for_.

She never before considered that Carter might be to her what Chuck is to Blair. It's strange and slightly terrifying: commitment has never been her strong suit. But then again…it's not his, either.

And maybe that's what's going to make it, if _it_ is even there, work.

_the black in the book_

_the letters on the page that you memorize_

She wakes up earlier than he does most mornings, and she always buries a little bit further under the covers and watches him sleep. She tries to remember if there was ever a time she wasn't at least somewhat attracted to him. She tries to think of a time when he was a stupid, annoying boy, or if he ever went through that awkward, teenage phase, but she can't find any negative memories regarding his appearance.

All of a sudden, he rolls toward her, his face less than an inch away. He opens his bleary eyes and smiles lazily at her. "You watch me sleep every morning," he says knowingly.

Her jaw drops. "And you _pretend_ to be sleeping every morning!"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Hey, I thought I'd let you enjoy the view."

"Jerk," she says, frowning at him.

"Really, when you think about it, I was helping you out," he insists, sitting up and shooting her a lascivious look.

"_Whatever_," she says menacingly, swinging her legs over the opposite side of the bed and standing up. As she gets to her feet and tugs at the hem or her short nightgown, she notices the novel sitting on the table at her side of the bed. Dan leant it to her before they parted ways for the summer, a simple gesture of friendship. She fully intended to read it, to broaden her literary horizons, but she hasn't even looked at it again.

It's not that she hasn't been _reading_, because she has, even more than she has over the past couple years. Every day she and Carter have poured over newspapers in both English and Fijian, giggling as they compare stories and try to decipher the language. When they're walking by the water one day they see a small, eclectic bookstore and they buy at least half the books inside. She's not sure if they'll ever read them all or how, exactly, they're going to get them back to America, but she loves the afternoon when they lug all the books into their hotel room and spend the entire evening under the low light of a lamp and the moon reading each other random passages in a mess of blankets on the floor. He's got such a good reading voice that it lulls her to sleep, lying back against his chest, his lips brushing her hair as he reads in his low, sexy voice.

She's got other important things to read. Sheets and sheets of paper courtesy of a private investigator that she mulls over when he's busy doing something else. She reads the words over and over again, the only connection she's got to the man linked to her by blood that she hasn't seen in so long, until she's got them memorized. When he catches her with the sheets from time to time she'll blush and stash them away. One day he shakes his hand and asks her why she's hiding this from him.

Serena shrugs. "It's kind of pathetic. It's not liking staring at some paper is going to help anything. It's just…paper. It's not a real connection to him or anything."

"That's the thing with you," he says simply as he takes a seat next to her on the sandy beach. She waits for him to continue but he doesn't say anything more.

"Elaborate, please," she says testily, unsure whether he's insulting or complimenting her.

"You don't connect to people."

She sighs and whacks him lightly in the face with her sheets of paper. "You've got to stop being my shrink."

"What _should_ I be, then?" he dares her.

She sighs once more, defeated. "Go on," she murmurs, doodling a heart in the sand with her index finger.

His hand lands atop hers, stilling its movement, intertwining their fingers. "You don't _like_ to connect to people, not on a really deep, serious level. You're scared to." He tilts his head slightly in an effort to meet her eyes. "Not a big surprise for a girl raised the way you were. I can't say I'm any different."

"But you are. You…" She gathers her courage and looks him in the eye. "You're here with me, aren't you?"

Carter smirks as he nods. "So maybe there's hope for both of us, huh?" He gets to his feet with ease and offers her both his hands. "C'mon. Come with me."

Once she stands he doesn't release either of her hands; instead he backs up, leading her toward the water, all of her papers getting wrinkled in between them. He stops ankle-deep in the water so that they're standing parallel to the shore, and inclines his head toward the waves. "Let go, okay?"

"Everything will fall," she protests in disbelief.

"That's the point. Work with me, here," he chuckles.

"But I –"

"You have memorized every single word on each and every one of those pieces of paper. It's nothing I can't get again. Let the hell go, Serena."

She giggles, and, never one to turn down a challenge, does just that. For a moment she feels panicked as she watches them fall, tumbling into the warm water and floating away. She stares down as the ink bleeds out of the paper and into the water, erasing the sentences away. She sighs heavily, feeling like she's been freed but also like she's lost something.

"Hope for you and me both, you think?" she asks him as optimistically as she can, repeating his words, reaching for his hands again.

He nods, taking her hands and pulling her close to him so that he can wrap an arm around her shoulders as they walk back onto the sand.

"Hope for _us_," he corrects her, so casually, as if it doesn't mean as much as it does.

The next day, she sneaks out of their hotel room early in the morning while he's still dead to the world, and throws that book from her nightstand into the hotel's fountain, leaving it for someone else to find.

It occurs to her on the way back to their room that she never knew what it was called, but she figures it doesn't matter when she crawls back into bed, waking him up with a kiss, because she's still writing her own story, a story she thinks, more and more with each day that passes, she might be able to share.

_and I am the orange in the overcast_

_of colour that you visualize_

A vicious heat wave hits in their second week there, and they their adventure lust dies, abandoned in fever of lying absolutely still on the floor, all the blankets cast away, directly under the fan. She sleeps in one of his dress shirts and he sleeps in his boxers, and they've thrown their blankets and sweaters and jackets in a pile that they give a wide berth.

She lounges out on one of the balcony chairs with a magazine in the evening when it's a bit cooler, hoping to catch a breeze. During the day, since they're holed up in their hotel room, she just wears a bikini, nothing more.

He walks out to join her and hands her a glass of lemonade – he must have ordered room service. "How're you doing? Do you think you have heatstroke yet?"

"Not quite," she murmurs, casting her magazine aside as she accepts the glass and presses the cool surface of it against her forehead and neck. "It's too fucking _hot_."

Carter takes a seat in the chair at her side. "You could strip a little more, you know."

"Oh, I know. I've seriously considered it. But even nakedness would be too hot."

He laughs as he sips his lemonade and she rolls her eyes when she realizes the innuendo he's laughing over. "_Carter_."

"You set yourself up for that one," he argues lazily. "And if you keep saying my name like that you're going to be setting yourself up for a hell of a lot more."

She half-smirks and gulps down all her lemonade. She's not entirely sure of what _they_ are, because they're not the type of people who discuss those things. That moment on the rooftop was definitely the most intense moment they've shared thus far, and they're not pretending that it never happened, but they're certainly not referencing it in daily conversation either. They kiss periodically and she's not sure what it means. She's getting frustrated with this trip, with the heat, with being stuck on an island, with the lack of information she has regarding the person she came here to find…and with not being _with_ Carter.

"This is ridiculous," she huffs.

"It might not be so hot inside," he suggests, being as helpful as he can.

She throws him an exasperated look. "We came here for a reason, Carter. And even when we're on some small island in the south pacific we can't find…him."

"We couldn't find him in Santorini, either. That's a small island," he reminds her gently.

Serena runs her hands through her hair and then buries her face against them. "I'm just…_frustrated_," she grumbles.

He gives her a long, hard look. His eyes start at her feet and glide up her legs at a languorous pace, trailing over her stomach and her breasts, the muscles in her shoulders and neck, her cheekbones, hair, and eyes. "In more ways than one," he finally notes.

She thinks she might cry, and probably for the wrong reasons. "Would you _stop_ with the double entendre already? I'm serious."

"Oh, me too," he says readily, getting to his feet. He closes the space between them and leans down to kiss her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, she can't help it. "I think…" he murmurs as he kisses a spot just behind her ear, "that we're going about this…" He pauses to kiss her temple, "…the wrong way."

Eyelids half-closed, she glances up at him. "Okay. We'll do it your way."

"Yeah?" he asks with that boyish grin that she's sometimes sure he never lets anyone else see. He slips his arms beneath her body easily, lifting her up bridal-style. She doesn't have the energy to squeal, so she just bites her lip.

"What's your suggestion?" she asks him mutedly as he carries her inside and lays her down on the mattress of their bed, covered only by a single sheet for the least warmth possible.

"I suggest…that we _embrace_ the heat," he murmurs, and then kisses her full on the lips.

_I __am the white in the walls that soak up_

_all the sound when you cannot sleep_

She's not a saint. She never claimed to be. She wasn't like Blair, set on fairytales. She just wanted to _live_. Stopping frightened her, so she went with whatever she pleased. She's been places. She's been with people. This isn't entirely new to her.

But she feels a difference. There was Nate, childish love and easy familiarity. Dan, safe and secure and utterly in love with her. Aaron with his newness and artistry, Gabe and sophistication and a bit of craziness. This, with Carter, is like all of that and none of that. It's similar to the heady desire of the more random situations she's most herself in, and yet a vast contrast.

It almost feels like continuity. There's a purity in the pleasure of it, sort of like sinful, wayward romance. He knows her mouth, he knows her body; he kisses her with the ease of acquaintance and touches her with a sense of remembrance, of recognition, like he knows exactly what she wants, and more importantly, needs.

"Are you thinking?" she asks him breathlessly as he presses a kiss just above the spot on her bikini top that holds it together, in the valley of her breasts. She's not sure if her question makes sense or if it even truly conveys what she wants to ask, but she's past caring.

He grins, brushing her hair out of her face. "You're making it kinda hard for me." She giggles and he rolls his eyes, pressing his hips against hers, effectively putting a stop to her laughter. "Who's seeing all the double entendres now?"

With a cheeky grin, she amends breathlessly, "More like _feeling_." She jerks her chin upward slightly, smile fading away. "What? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I missed you a little more than I let on before. And I'm thinking it's about time to _stop_ thinking."

She touches his cheeks with her fingertips, smiling, liking the look of everything she sees in his eyes. "You've got different versions of yourself, too, you know."

He gives the answer she was looking for: "Well, this one's all yours." He lets the words sink into the humid air around them before he murmurs, "Can I kiss you now? And don't say no, 'cause I can't really listen to that," he adds teasingly, nipping at her lips.

Serena sighs contentedly, mussing her blonde locks up against the pillow behind her head when she nods slightly. "Yeah, you can kiss me now," she whispers, cupping the back of his head with the back of her hand, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her.

"You know," he mutters as he kisses her shoulder, "This is the point where I'd normally unbutton your shirt or unzip your skirt or do something else to make you melt, but you're not wearing enough clothing for that."

"I don't _melt_."

"You would for me," he replies with a certainty that's both annoying and endearing.

"If that's true…" she says slowly, challenging him with her blue eyes, "then who needs clothes at all?"

She's got one leg wrapped around his waist when it happens. They're kissing in a heated, yet almost lazy way, because the pressure of the sun alone has exhausted them for the day, when it happens. He's slowly tugging at the bow at her neck that will partially free her from her bathing suit top, fingers slipping into her hair, dancing along her spine intimately; that's when it happens.

She falls apart. She's not quite sure how she gets to that point, but all of a sudden she's crying, tears on her cheeks and gliding down to her lips, where she tastes the saltiness of them. "I'm sorry," she gasps as she chokes on her sobs. She can hardly see him through her teary eyes.

"It's okay, s'okay, shhh," he murmurs, pulling her into a sitting position and gently helping her into one of his shirts, covering her up a bit more so that she doesn't feel vulnerable. He pulls her close, letting her snuggle up against his chest, and kisses her hair in a gesture so naturally affectionate that a fresh batch of tears spring to her eyes. He sighs as he hugs her. "I know that this isn't exactly vacation for you."

"I'm scared," she whispers brokenly, burying her face against his shoulder. She _hates_ to be scared, hates to be powerless, absolutely hates to be unsure.

"I know, sweetheart," he promises her huskily, and she thinks about the first time he ever called her that. They were four. He was about to kiss her.

She presses her hands to her face and tries to calm down. "It's just that either way…this isn't _good_. I'm terrified of not finding him. I so…I've been looking so hard and it feels like the right thing to do. He's…he's my _dad_. It's not supposed to be like this, how it is, not for me or for Erik, or even for Mom." She glances at him as if she needs confirmation of that fact, her voice cracking, and he nods. She sighs, relaxing again. "But I am so fucking scared to find him, too."

He lays them down, sprawled across the bed diagonally, and grabs a pillow to slip beneath her head. "I would be worried if you weren't," he murmurs reassuringly. "It's complicated, I know. Frustrating, for you. But you're brave, you know?" He kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth, licks her tears away. "You started looking for him because you're brave, for yourself and Erik and even for Lily."

"Thank you," she says thickly, and then laughs at the sound of her own watery voice. "I'm sorry."

As she relaxes against the pillow, remnants of tears on her cheeks, he tucks his body into hers comfortingly from behind, draping an arm around her. "I signed up for this," he reminds her. "Days ago, years ago. I don't want it any other way."

Serena squeezes her eyes shut. "You're braver than me, then," she whispers.

"Sleep," he says firmly, like she's crazy even to think that. "You need it."

_and I am the peach in the starfish on the beach_

_that wish the harbour wasn't quite so deep_

"Hi," she says faintly.

He turns in his chair, where he's reading the morning paper. "Hey," he replies casually, but she sees him scrutinize her face. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine." She walks over, plucks the paper out of his hands, and sits in his lap, long legs draped over his, arms entwined around his neck. She rests her forehead against his momentarily and makes a face. "Thank you."

He nods, his head against hers. He understands.

She hasn't moved much over the past couple days – she just needed some time to wallow in her fear and her misery. She rarely lets herself stop and think, so it's always rough when things catch up with her. He's been hovering around her, but not irritatingly so. He makes sure she eats and periodically asks her if she needs anything, but otherwise, he gives her her space.

The heat wave's ended. There's moisture in the air again; there's wind. And she feels ready to stop being sorry for herself, to stop contemplating her misery, and move on to bigger and better things. She's out of bed and dressed in fresh clothes, a loose t-shirt that dips low in the front and a pair of shorts over her favourite bathing suit.

"Let's go," she says.

His eyes light up and he grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she agrees, returning his smile. She stands so that he can get up as well.

"Okay; where?"

As she walks back into their hotel room, she waves her hand lazily at him and winks. "We'll figure it out when we get there."

The moment they walk outside, venturing off the hotel's grounds, they both grab their sunglasses and slip them on in one fluid, synchronized movement. Immediately afterward, they shoot each other startled looks, and she bursts out laughing at what she sees.

He groans. "We should walk ten feet apart."

"Aw, come on, it's kind of cute."

"Serena, we…_match_," he says, as if it's the most terrible word in the English language.

"Yes, honey, I know," she says teasingly, placating him.

"But it's such…such a…Chuck and Blair thing to do," he sighs, "Unintentionally matched pieces of clothing." He grimaces.

"You're forgetting that I actually _like_ Blair and Chuck," she giggles, slipping her hand into his. "And this is, therefore, not the worst thing to ever happen to me."

"How nice for you," he mutters sarcastically.

"Come on," she says, pulling him toward the beach. "Let's go swimming. Can you believe we've been in Fiji this long and we haven't gone swimming yet?" She shakes her head, releasing his hand so that she can take off her shirt and slip out of her shorts. "We must be crazy." She grins at him playfully. "Race you there," she challenges, and takes off before he has a chance to respond.

Half an hour later they've exhausted themselves play-fighting and splashing around in the warm water and they float next to one another on their backs, facing turned toward the sun, hands gliding through the water.

"But you're thankful for the matching sunglasses now, huh?" she laughs.

"This reminds me of Santorini," he says faintly, lowly, his voice thick with memory. "We swam a lot there."

She'd shrug if she wasn't lying on her back in water. "It was gorgeous there," she says by way of agreement.

He turns his head toward her. She can tell by the way his nose is scrunched up that he's squinting in the sun, even with his glasses on. "I just want to say…"

Serena turns her head to look at him as well. It's not like him to be hesitant. "Say what?"

"It's going to sound…"

"I don't judge," she reminds him.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, "I'm sorry you didn't find him yet, Serena, I really am. I know it's hard for you. And I'm sorry if we don't find him at all, even though I'm going to do everything I can to make sure we do."

"That doesn't sound bad at all," she says faintly. She can feel her heartbeat all through her body, in all her pulse points, pounding in her chest.

"The bad part is that, despite how hard I know this is for you, I'm really glad we have this. Summer together."

"Summer together…" she whispers to the sky, rolling the words around in her mouth, trying them out. They taste sweet and they make her long for more. She takes a deep breath and says quietly, "I'm glad we have this, too."

And it's a lie, because that's the moment she realizes she wants a hell of a lot more than just _summer together_.

_if you cut me I suppose I would bleed_

_the colours of the evening stars, my darling_

_you can go anywhere you wish_

_because I'll be there, wherever you are, my darling_

They spend that night back on that rooftop. They bring the rose-printed comforter from the hotel to lie on and she wears a light, flighty kind of dress, white with gold accents. He tells her she looks beautiful, like a Greek goddess or something, and for five seconds they're back in Santorini again.

She's quiet and he, of course, notices.

"No comments about the strangeness of the universe tonight?" he asks her softly.

She shakes her head, messing up her windswept hair. "I don't want to talk about the universe tonight," she whispers, searching for constellations in the sky. "Screw the universe."

He links his fingers through hers. "What _do_ you want to talk about?" He's got that voice again, edgy and appealing, warnings in his words.

"I want to talk about…here and now. I want…to talk about Santorini. I want to talk about boarding school and New York and that time in Maine. I want to talk about Paris."

"You want to talk about Paris," he repeats sceptically. "We never talk about Paris."

"Well, Paris isn't Vegas," she replies instantly. "What happens there doesn't have to stay there. And it didn't. It hasn't."

"It hasn't?"

"Where are you right now?" She asks him an obvious question instead of giving him an answer. "Where are you and who are you with _right now_?"

"Okay," he says cautiously. "What do you want to…say about Paris?"

"I don't know," she chokes out, and he sits up quickly to look at her face.

"Are you crying?" he murmurs worriedly, his fingers slipping into her hair.

"I'm not…sad," she says instead of giving him a straight answer. "You came to Paris because my grandmother told you I'd be there. I was twelve and I was crazy and I don't know why you'd even care, but you did, and you were there, and you kissed me at the top of the Eiffel Tower like we were in one of those stupid, romantic movies Blair always used to watch, the kind of stuff that just _doesn't exist_ in real life…you made it real for me. You were fourteen and you cared enough to do that for _me_.And then you were there at boarding school and in Santorini and you kept looking for my father even after _I_ gave up and you came to the debutante ball even though I completely abandoned you in Fiji. We've been here and we're lying on a rooftop right now staring at the stars and I honestly don't know what the fuck any of it means."

He stays quiet for a moment, his fingers grazing her scalp intimately as he, for all intents and purposes, plays with her hair. "You weren't crazy," he finally says. "Well, you were, but in a really _good_ way."

She shoots him an exasperated, pleading look, her eyes stinging a bit from staring at the sky for too long, and from emotion. "Is that seriously all you're going to say? That's it, that's all?"

"You want answers?" he says as if he's guessing. "You want me to tell you what this means?"

"What everything meant."

He shrugs in that infuriating way of his. "It means whatever you want it to mean. Nothing. Everything. Somewhere in between. Whatever."

"I want it to mean what _you_ want it to mean," she retorts, sitting up so that they're at eye level with one another.

"You're asking me for dangerous things," he says lowly.

She gives him her coyest smile, sugary sweetness with poison underneath, displaying much more confidence than she actually feels. "Carter," she purrs, "you know by now that danger doesn't scare me."

"But the truth might," he counters.

She lifts a hand up into the space between them, hooking her fingers into the collar of his shirt, toying with the fabric and tugging him just a little bit closer. "It's what I want," she says, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Are you going to say no to me?"

He shakes his head.

"So tell me," she whispers, "Tell me what you want this to mean."

"I wouldn't kiss just any girl at the top of the Eiffel Tower."

"Don't be cryptic," she murmurs, and her lips graze his, just barely, when she speaks.

Carter squints for a moment, thinking over his words. "You're kinda like home to me. You know? Wherever I've been or whatever I've done over the years, you've been there with me, or I've found myself getting sent back to the city or shipped to boarding school and…you'd be there."

She nods slightly, searching his eyes.

"When we got here, and we got off the plane, you were there, next to me. And you took my hand. I…that's the way I want it to be. Wherever I am, when I get off the plane, you're there holding my hand." He grins at the way her eyes sparkle, the smile that pulls at her lips, the blood that rushes to her cheeks. He kisses her quickly, chastely but emotionally. "One day you're going to tell me exactly what you're thinking at this moment, because God knows it's good," he whispers against her lips.

Serena shoots him a flirtatious, inquisitive look. "Not right now?"

He shakes his head. "You won't right now. I know you."

"Okay," she says softly, glancing down. "One day. I will."

"Promise me."

"Promise one day you'll take me back to Paris." She smiles, her face lighting up. "I promise to hold your hand," she teases, leaning in close to him. As he rolls his eyes, she tucks her body against his, her head against his neck. She can feel his pulse.

"I promise you."

"I promise, too," she murmurs, sighing, "One day."

"And how about tonight?" he asks quietly, one of his hands sneaking beneath her dress, the other buried in her hair.

She giggles against his skin, pulling back to look him in the eye. "Have I ever said no to you?"

"Not since you were four," he says with a smirk, getting to his feet. She stands, too, and he folds the blanket, tucking it under his arm. As he heads for the staircase, he reaches out behind him, and she slips her hand into his, taking a couple quick steps to catch up, leaning into him. She feels giddy and free, dizzily frivolous, unsteady in the best of ways, held up only by him, and this is happiness, just happiness, 'cause it can't be love.

_wherever you are_

_wherever you are_

"Slow," he murmurs in between kisses as she pushes him into their hotel room, breathing hard, kissing frantically, tugging his shirt off.

She shakes her head stubbornly. He smirks and teases her that she's always been so impatient, and she gives him her best mischievous smile and asks him if _really_, he's going to complain about that right now? It's fair game from there. She remembers _him_, the way he tastes and the way he feels, and even that sound that he makes deep down in his throat, the one that gives her butterflies. She can't breathe and she can't keep track of his hands and her hands and whose limbs are whose, she can't quite figure out the end of him and the beginning of her. She gasps and whimpers his name and she might say that word, four letters of truth, but it doesn't matter because it's all a blissful blur, and he calls her _beautiful_ in bed and buries his face in her neck when he comes, like he used to, and in that moment she feels the history they've got the change between them and she knows it's for the better.

He's whispering sweet nothings against her neck as she drifts off to sleep, and the last thing she hears is the way his voice dips lower, serious and almost pleading, as he murmurs against her sweat-soaked skin, "…be here in the morning."

As always, she wakes before he does. For a moment she wants nothing more than to stay and for a moment she wants nothing more than to bolt. She gets up and pulls on underwear, a pair of jeans and one of his t-shirts, no bra. She impatiently pulls her hair up into a messy figure-eight-style bun and then sits back on the edge of the bed, pushing his messed-up bangs out of his face tenderly as she watches him, content in his state of slumber.

They've barely been in Fiji for three weeks and she's got no real evidence pointing to her father's location or wellbeing or anything at all, but she thinks she's gotten more than she ever truly expected to out of this trip. She wants to see her father again, even if it frightens her, but that doesn't matter quite as much anymore. She got him out of this trip. She got Carter, and she can't catch her breath for a moment when she realizes that he might be equally, if not more, valuable than what she initially came to the island looking for.

She remembers what he said to her yesterday. He'll want to spend the whole summer here. They can afford it in every sense and interpretation of the word. And when they get back on a plane and land once more at JFK, he'll want her hand in his, or his in hers. Last night, he asked her not to leave him again, and she knows just how much she hurt him, broke him, tore down some of the fronts he puts up to the world. Carter Baizen, the schemer, the charmer, the bad guy…he's loved her all along.

Still, she itches to leave. She's afraid of any prospective love she's got waiting for her here – familial and romantic. She's scared they don't exist in the ways she wants them to, or that they'll cease to exist at some future point. She's never been good at this.

Serena presses her lips together and let's a tear escape, just one. She rests her hand softly atop his, matching up each of the lines on their hands, the curves of their fingers. In his sleep, he holds on to her, and she tries so hard to decide. What he feels for her pulls her in closer than she'd known was possible, and also makes her want to run far, far away.

Even if she leaves now, she thinks that they'll always have Paris. In the past. Perhaps in the future. She could run away and maybe if it's powerful enough, they'll find themselves back there at the same time and she'll be ready. But then, she's seen a love story play out in front of her eyes over the past year, and she knows that even things that are written in the stars require work. There's grief and joy and most importantly, holding on. She didn't hold on in Santorini. And now he's got her hand loosely clutched in his. He's fought half the battle, all she has to do is ally with him.

She wants to lie down with him and giggle with him when he wakes. She wants to grab a cab and head for the airport. Her head spins.

They'd always have Paris.

The epitome of promises. The vow of forever, of never letting go, of cherishing for always. He's got her history, locked away in his heart. It doesn't even feel like it's her own anymore. It's _theirs._ Eternal entwinement. _You're beautiful, Serena_. A kiss. Fireworks atop the world's most romantic structure. Midnight rendezvous in the pool at a boarding school. Stretched out on the sand in Santorini. Arms hooked at the debutante ball, his hand on her waist as they dance. His version of her and her version of him; late nights star-gazing on a pacific island. _Promise me_. Confess to me. Everlasting; make this last for ever.

They are such a cliché, she thinks.

And they are absolutely everything but, she knows.

_wherever you are_


End file.
